


Blackhole

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Blackmail, M/M, Punishment, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Longarm Prime has dirt on Sentinel, and they come to a one-sided agreement as to how they'll deal with it.





	Blackhole

**Author's Note:**

> Fun little commission! I intentionally left it ambiguous as to why Sentinel is being blackmailed, as I figured it wasn't necessarily relevant and might take too long to explain in the space I had. Hope you enjoy!

    He had certainly been having fun with this. Deceptive bastard. Sentinel knew that look in his optics, that tilt of his mouth that didn’t quite make a smile. It was disgusting.

    And he had no power over it. It wasn’t a position Sentinel Prime was used to being in, and certainly not one he enjoyed being in. No one ever controlled him like this. Even the Magnus was too apathetic about his state to bother overseeing his Primes, provided they did their jobs and didn’t cause problems publically. Sentinel Prime did not cause problems, publically or not. Except for the mistake of befriending Optimus, that lame-brained flunkie who almost ruined both their careers. He’d been fully exonerated of course, before the full Senate, letting Optimus shoulder the whole blame, as deserved, but there was a permanent stain on his progress through the ranks, and for that his old partner would never be forgiven.

    That and one other thing.

    Longarm Prime still managed to find the fault. How, Sentinel did not and likely never would know, but those Intel agents were shady like that. He’d never wanted to trust them with the big decisions, and frankly found naming an agent who had never completed the real military training the Elite Guard required be named a Prime offensive. He’d been Longarm’s sergeant in his early days and knew full well what the bot was capable of – slow, older than most new recruits by centuries, shy and standoffish. How had he ever landed such a coveted, high power positon? It wouldn’t have happened if Highbrow hadn’t gone missing, probably lost boozing it up somewhere inappropriate and too ashamed to come home. If it weren’t for his successor Sentinel would have thought it was a good riddance.

    Unfortunately, everyone and everything was out to get him, and Longarm, the quote-unquote Prime, had come into power in an unprecedentedly quick run of his career. He had proceeded to do his job well but unimpressively, keeping under the radar and being a general people pleaser. Sentinel hadn’t even really noticed or cared about him until now.

    “You know I would never get enjoyment from throwing a fellow Prime under a transport unit, so to speak.”

    That smug little twitch of his ugly seamed lips seemed to suggest otherwise. Sentinel had declined to sit, preferring to have the higher ground in any and all situations, and sneered down at Longarm over his chin, barely containing himself enough to keep from just leaving. It hadn’t worked the first time and it wouldn’t now.

    “However, this cannot be overlooked.” Longarm fanned out his chubby fingers over the low light of the datapad he had placed in between them, giving Sentinel a meaningful look, like they shared some emotional rapport. Sentinel’s engines revved.

    “We’ve been over this, Longarm,” he stressed the designation without the title attached, hoping it bit as much as he’d intended, “I did what you asked.”

    His optics broke their grip on Longarm’s for a moment, just a small one, but it was enough. Longarm had come to him before, about this same damn thing, cooing words of solace and repentance like asking Sentinel to give him promoted access to the military base’s files was a reasonable request. _We’ll keep it between us,_ he’d said, looking so sorrowful _, but I need to be sure you’re not going to make a mistake again. I’ll watch over you._

    It was disgusting, and a total violation of not only protocol but, if he was using it for what he’s claimed he was, Sentinel’s privacy as a Prime and an administrator, not to mention everyone under him in both instruction and command. He’d done it, though.

    “I am aware, and I thank you.”

    Longarm Prime smiled weakly, as though he were the one being admonished.

    “So?”

    “I’m afraid,” breathed Longarm, his voice round and hollow like an echo in an empty room, “that you still haven’t served out your punishment.”

    “Punishment?” at this Sentinel’s indignance and frustration boiled together and the reaction was not subtle.

    “What the pit kind of right to you have to meet out punishment to anyone? You are my equal, if even, not my superior!”

    “On the contrary,” said Longarm, “I hold a place on the Senate, which you do not, and despite having not risen to my rank through the Elite Guard, I am still a high caliber operator in this city, this province, and on this planet.”

    He stood, his meager height somehow dwarfing Sentinel as his words darkened. Sentinel looked down on him and felt impotent and cornered, and it made him furious. The servos in his hands itched like they did in battle, wanting to circle around his weaponry. Longarm’s facial kibble made the perfect little red target for a lance strike. Sentinel was not a killer, but he could imagine it with ease.

    “Well,” he snarled, “what are you going to do about it, then?”

    Longarm’s smile was soft again, and it drew Sentinel’s anger to such a high point he felt physically ill.

    “Come here.”

    “What?”

    “Here,” and Longarm gestured to his side of the desk. Sentinel eyed it warily, anger still blinding his ability to think clearly. Surely this almost-minibot didn’t plan on serving him a corporal punishment, like a sparkling? Chin thrust proudly outwards, Sentinel approached him, coming close enough that his chest shadowed Longarm’s face and reminded him of his size.

    “And?” He spat.

    Longarm hummed, patting the annoyingly clean desktop. Sentinel’s entire body tensed, springs winding.

    “You can’t be serious.”

    Laughing, Longarm shook his helm slightly.

    “I’m not planning to discipline you with my hands, if that’s what you’re thinking. Still, as you’ve made very clear, I am too short for this to work from our current position.”

    He still wasn’t explaining himself, and if Sentinel had any foothold here he would be demanding what was on the little mech’s mind. However, he had already given himself over. Longarm didn’t need to say it, but along with the preexisting fault in his record, the fact that he’d sold himself and everyone in his department out to cover his own aft section was damning in and of itself. He bent over the desk, palms flat, and glared at the opposite end of the room. Longarm had several credentials hung on the wall, illuminated in softly swirling hues of blue and green behind the engraved glass. There was also a case of medals, but those belonged to Highbrow.

    He refused to say anything, setting his jaw tightly. He wasn’t about the give Longarm even the slightest impression he was afraid, which he wasn’t. However, he couldn’t stop the small jolt that went through his circuitry when Longarm’s hand met the small of his back, simply resting there. It almost stung.

    “Shh,” Longarm said, “I won’t take long.”

    “The slag you will,” ground out Sentinel, annoyed that he was being patronized.

    Longarm’s hand slid down then, over the sharp angle of his aft to between his legs. In a very no-nonsense tone, Longarm said, “Open up, then.”

    Sentinel pushed back to get up off the desk but Longarm’s other hand found his shoulder and slammed him back down. He could not have ever anticipated the force with which Longarm’s small fingers gripped him, and it was surprise more than anything that kept him from immediately attempting to throw him off again.

    “What is this?”

    “Your punishment,” Longarm intoned, the façade of patience and caring dropping.

    “Of all the disgusting-“ Sentinel was having a hard time choking out words through his own emotion, “How dare you assault another officer like this?”

    Longarm’s grip was still pushing, and Sentinel found, with genuinely shock, that his own elbow were beginning to buckle under the weight of the grip. Turning back he swept a foot under Longarm’s, or rather attempted to – the thick tread of Longarm’s caterpillar track didn’t budge, and the force with which he’d kicked at them shocked back into his own struts as though he’d tried to sweep Fortress Maximus off his feet instead of a transport frame the size of a civilian model.

    “I thought you wanted to reconcile yourself with the law,” said Longarm, and Sentinel could swear he heard real glee in his voice as a round belly pressed up against his back, hot metal to metal. He reached back, roaring in anger, and Longarm’s arm twisted unnaturally, looping itself around his wrist band catching him before he could make contact without Longarm’s palm ever leaving its place on his spinal strut.

    “Let go!”

    “I will not,” said Longarm, “until you’ve learned.”

    Sentinel felt a surge of energy where Longarm’s hand still gripped his paneling, and then, to his horror, felt the mechanisms inside himself reacting to it by baring himself. Another small sting bit his circuitry, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of cool office air on his intimate component. He yelled again and Longarm hummed back, like a teacher placating a whining student.

    “Good,” he whispered, and his fat little fingers dragged up the cleft of Sentinel’s valve.

    “You filthy fragging heat blister!”

    Despite his firm, furious cries, Sentinel found his body quieting, his struggles growing weaker. It wasn’t as though his strength was being sapped, more that the fight was just leaving him. It was odd in many ways, but mainly in that he didn’t question it. The wrist Longarm held behind his back wasn’t even aching from the strain of being held in such an unnatural position.

    “See, now isn’t this better?” Longarm pressed a finger inside Sentinel, gently probing against his calipers, but the sensation was far off and damp, and Sentinel found he didn’t mind it much.

    “You’ll pay for this, you trash,” he snarled, but it was with considerably less volume than before. Longarm was thrusting in and out now, one finger still? Two? Sentinel eyed the medals in the cabinet, all from the old war, cast and awarded before either of them were even sparked. This failure still kept them in his office, as if they belonged to him, as if he deserved them. Longarm groaned softly behind him and Sentinel found the pressure inside him had increased. He shifted slightly, neither uncomfortable nor pleasured, grinding his teeth.

    “You’re sick.”

    Longarm had ceased responding, either because he didn’t care to or because he couldn’t. The desk rocked forwards rhythmically, though Sentinel found he couldn’t keep up with the pattern. It was annoying, and on top of everything else was making his single arm supporting them both now tired, not that he’d admit to it. His visual sensors were having difficulty logging the information they picked up into his memory banks, and time drifted.

    Heaving an almost silent, shuddering sigh, Longarm stopped. His grip slackened and Sentinel pulled his arm away immediately, though not roughly, rubbing his wrist without feeling.

    “There,” said Longarm, pleased with himself, “there.”

    “Are we done here?” Sentinel peeled back the thin metal of his lips, turning to give Longarm a long, withering stare over his shoulder. Longarm was touching him again, the inside of his thighs, maybe, but he felt so numb it hardly registered.

    “Yes,” said Longarm, “I think so.”

    Sentinel righted himself and stomped away, shaking his head as his optic nerves jittered slightly. What a bothersome little pest this so-called Prime had become (though he had to admit, privately, that he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt this way. He couldn’t remember what Longarm had done-).

    As he left he barely caught Longarm’s ragged voice saying, “Until next time.”

    “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving Longarm off, and Sentinel left, calmer.


End file.
